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Rated: ASR · Documentary · Biographical · #2285755
I'm finally starting in earnest to write my autobiology!
         My parents got married on November 6, 1960. In those early days, there were two of me, an egg and a sperm. I was born nine months and twenty-two days after my parents' honeymoon. So, I have a pretty fair idea of the way they celebrated their marriage after the cake had been consumed.
         After that, life went pretty much downhill. Ma kept me in the dark for months. During that lack of period, I was depressed a great deal. Some person or other seemed constantly to be feeling of her tummy. Then, I was born. It was like a whole, new rebirth! A thin voice said, "Go to the light." So I did. In spite of my youthful youth and my young youngishness, I remember coming down a narrow passage, and there it was! The telly!!
         It troubled me greatly that my parents had brought me all this way just to plop me in front of the telly! Of course, I returned the disfavour by doing some 'plopping' myself. It served them right to have to deal with my crap!
         Among my earliest and least pleasant memories was that of getting shot when I was not much more than an a mere infink. In fact, I got several shots. And still more shots throughout the years!
         I broke my first bone in 1969. That's the year Man landed on the moon and I landed on my own moon, having fallen from a tree in the front yard. Unfortunately, my left arm was between my moon and the earth. This caused a shadow to pass across my face before the rain fell down my cheeks. (I was a kind-of 'cheeky' lad.) This was my first break in life! And boy did it hurt! It certainly did hurt this boy! It was a simpler, more natural time (as the old TV ad once proclaimed), and a simple break of my left wrist. A few weeks on the cast of the play Kids With Broken Arms, during which I couldn't play much, healed my broken arm as well as my broken spirit.
         This same year, my parents having separated, I started second grade in a new school in a new town. Ohhh, how I'd love to tell you about my school days, my classmates, and my teacher of that period. I detest lawsuits, though, so I'll not say a word.
         Another biological event from 1969 involved my granny rather than myself. However, my granny is probably the single greatest influence on my life. So, the event involved both of us to a very high degree. One evening, my granny had been out and had a few drinks. This was an extremely rare event because her sister with whom she lived, had a much clearer perspective on how granny should live her life than granny had. (Isn't that always the way?) My granny had a very clear understanding of hell. All she had to do to experience it was take a sip of alcohol and allow her sister to know of it. I digress. So, granny came home. It was night-time and it was during one of several periods between my ma and pop's occasional move-in-togethers. This meant that my ma, my siblings (less my sister who had not yet been born), and myself were living there with my granny, Eva, and Dutch. My uncle Dutch (one of my granny's and my aunt's siblings who lived in the same two-story, six bedroom house) heard a noise out front. He checked on it and moments later, came in and told my ma, "Sandy, your mom's laying out front dead."
         In fact, she was not dead, but neither was she dead drunk as was at first suspected. An ambulance was called, which in those days was a stationwagon which doubled as a hearse. I was quite young then, so I don't know whether the ambulance crew had any medical training at all, but I do know that emergency medicine consisted of nowt more than a quick ride to the nearest hospital. There was one in my hometown. It was all the way at the far side of town about a half mile away.
         It was, then, this local hospital to which my granny was taken. I remember that night and the days and eventually months which followed as though the events were unfolding before me as I type. I haven't a great many good things to say about that hospital, but their forte was and is their ability to recognize when a case was beyond their capabilities. From the local hospital, granny was taken immediately to St. Luke Hospital in St. Louis MO. They had a surgeon standing by. He evaluated granny and within moments she had been not scheduled for surgery, but actually in surgery. She had a blood clot on her brain and had been unconscious since shortly after having been discovered on the porch. The doctor, an apparently highly skilled surgeon named Rulac (sp?), would later tell my ma that if my granny had arrived an hour (or even less) later than she did, she would unquestionably have died. Since I used to sit at the kitchen table writing poetry while my granny peeled spuds, culled beans, and encouraged me to write, the loss of my granny would have had a seriously deleterious effect on me and on the eventual creation of this present portfolio. If you can read this, thank my granny.
         During the next few years, I was an apt pupil of Life! That is to say, I was apt to repeat certain mistakes. A key mistake of mine was my constant quest to reach new heights. Had my quest been merely metaphysical, I might have fared better. Unfortunately, when my head would enter the clouds, and apparently visca-versca, my body often followed just for a chance at mischief. In the late 1960s, I had been impressed by Batman and Robin's 'inconspicuous' vertical climbs up the sides of buildings. I have a fair vocabulary nowadays, but in 1971 it lacked words like 'fear', 'injury', and 'foolhardiness'. One day, I decided to emulate the dramatic duo. I made calculations, grabbed a length of rope, and began a vertical Bat-climb up a tree. My calculations proved themselves to be MIS-calculations. First, my rope was not rated for vertical Bat-climbs. As I neared the top of my Bat-climb (why not a little sooner??) the rope snapped and I made a rapid Shawn-descent back to the ground. Of course, Adam West and Burt Ward had better sense than to *really* climb straight up anything. Incidentally, I met both Adam and Burt at different times in my life. As I mentioned, my vocabularly was a bit limited in those days, but I quickly picked up some new terms. Among these were "anaesthesia", "orthopedic surgery", and "intravenous therapy". I didn't much care for those terms. In fact, I still avoid using them in reference to myself unless absolutely necessary. A few years ago, I encountered yet another new word, "catheterization." It re-emphasized to me the definition of a word I've obviously known for many years, "pain." The word catheterization is such an important word that I highlighted it in my personal dictionary --- with a black Marks-A-Lot.
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